~Voila! Chapter One of my little fic. Please enjoy and give me feedback!~
Tagg sighed and decided to face the facts; he was lost. For the first time in his life, he had no idea where he was. Just as well that Nimbalo was there with him; the harvest mouse would no doubt make fun of him later.
The two friends had been hiding about Redwall, picking off Eefera and Vallug's so-called sentries. Tagg snorted to himself. None of them would be able to hear an insane badger, let alone two woodlanders.
So far, the two friends had disposed of both Rawback and Dagrab. In killing the latter, Nimbalo had 'repossessed', as he put it, his father's battleaxe, and was carrying it with pride.
The friendly woods of Mossflower seemed to have all but disappeared. . . there where many more pines than Tagg remembered, and the trees had lost their friendly feel.
The otter sighed again and faced his friend. "Face it, mate. . . we're lost." Nimbalo looked up at the otter.
"You don't say?" He said sarcastically. "I realized we was lost 'alf an 'our ago!" The harvest mouse bragged.
"Well then, oh handsome golden one," Tagg still enjoyed calling his friend this, Nimbalo's face when he heard was priceless. "Do you know where we are?" the otter said pointedly.
The harvest mouse sagged exaggeratingly. "Not really," he admitted.
"All right then, mate, I'll go leftish, you go t'the right. Stay within shoutin' distance, though. We're bound t'find sommat familiar 'round 'ere." The friends nodded resolutely and set out in different directions.
The otter hadn't been walking for more than a few minutes when Nimbalo's scream pierced the air. The otter ran quickly and silently through the trees towards where the sound had come from; a small clearing.
In the space between two trees, Tagg observed the scene. Nimbalo lay on the ground with what looked like three arrows* in his chest. The otter could see his friend breathing however, so he was a bit relieved at that. The harvest mouse's battleaxe lay on the ground, a few paw-paces away from where Tagg now stood.
To the otter's horror, four weasels where walking towards his friend, in loose half-circle, daggers in hand. They had no tattoos, not Juska, although one did have a curious white mark across his muzzle.
Taking a quick course of action, the otter drew Sawney's Rath's blade from his belt and threw it so it imbedded itself handle-deep in front of the marked weasel's paws; between it and Nimbalo.
Moments after, the otter grabbed Nimbalo's battleaxe from where it lay and flipped into the air, landing with his friend at his back, the four weasels facing him.
"Not one pawstep closer, mates." Tagg said in a menacingly low voice, brandishing the battleaxe.
"Oi!" one weasel with a patchy coat said. "That's our meal, we's caught 't fair 'n' square!"
Tagg snarled, his tattoos rippling, making his face look quite barbaric. "An' 'es also my friend. Back off!"
"You can't be friends with a beast of burden. . . can you?" One weasel spoke, hesitantly.
"Beast of burden?" Cried the otter. "'Es an intelligent being! 'Es no slave!"
"Been too long alone, I'd say, chief," whispered the scruffy-looking weasel into the marked one's ear.
"I 'eard that remark, vermin." Snarled Tagg.
"I apologize," the marked weasel said calmly. "We did not know that the mouse belonged to you." The otter's eyes widened. "'Es owned by nobeast, save 'imself, perhaps. I'm no slaver."
The scruffy-looking weasel glanced at him, as if to say he thought that Tagg was insane. The otter in question carefully gathered up Nimbalo in his fore-limbs and picked up the blade in the earth, never taking his eyes off the weasel's, and began to back away.
Before he left the clearing, the tattooed otter growled a warning. "Don't follow us, vermin."
Although all the weasels had excellent senses, the otter seemed to literally disappear; fade into the woodlands as he left.
*The weasels of Sylver's band don't use bows; they use oversized darts.
~All right. . . what did you think? I'm going to put up the next chapter within a day or two. . . maybe even later tonight. Please, please tell me what you think of it. Oh, and in case you where wondering, the four weasels where Sylver, Scirf, Mawk-the-doubter and Alysoun.~
Tagg sighed and decided to face the facts; he was lost. For the first time in his life, he had no idea where he was. Just as well that Nimbalo was there with him; the harvest mouse would no doubt make fun of him later.
The two friends had been hiding about Redwall, picking off Eefera and Vallug's so-called sentries. Tagg snorted to himself. None of them would be able to hear an insane badger, let alone two woodlanders.
So far, the two friends had disposed of both Rawback and Dagrab. In killing the latter, Nimbalo had 'repossessed', as he put it, his father's battleaxe, and was carrying it with pride.
The friendly woods of Mossflower seemed to have all but disappeared. . . there where many more pines than Tagg remembered, and the trees had lost their friendly feel.
The otter sighed again and faced his friend. "Face it, mate. . . we're lost." Nimbalo looked up at the otter.
"You don't say?" He said sarcastically. "I realized we was lost 'alf an 'our ago!" The harvest mouse bragged.
"Well then, oh handsome golden one," Tagg still enjoyed calling his friend this, Nimbalo's face when he heard was priceless. "Do you know where we are?" the otter said pointedly.
The harvest mouse sagged exaggeratingly. "Not really," he admitted.
"All right then, mate, I'll go leftish, you go t'the right. Stay within shoutin' distance, though. We're bound t'find sommat familiar 'round 'ere." The friends nodded resolutely and set out in different directions.
The otter hadn't been walking for more than a few minutes when Nimbalo's scream pierced the air. The otter ran quickly and silently through the trees towards where the sound had come from; a small clearing.
In the space between two trees, Tagg observed the scene. Nimbalo lay on the ground with what looked like three arrows* in his chest. The otter could see his friend breathing however, so he was a bit relieved at that. The harvest mouse's battleaxe lay on the ground, a few paw-paces away from where Tagg now stood.
To the otter's horror, four weasels where walking towards his friend, in loose half-circle, daggers in hand. They had no tattoos, not Juska, although one did have a curious white mark across his muzzle.
Taking a quick course of action, the otter drew Sawney's Rath's blade from his belt and threw it so it imbedded itself handle-deep in front of the marked weasel's paws; between it and Nimbalo.
Moments after, the otter grabbed Nimbalo's battleaxe from where it lay and flipped into the air, landing with his friend at his back, the four weasels facing him.
"Not one pawstep closer, mates." Tagg said in a menacingly low voice, brandishing the battleaxe.
"Oi!" one weasel with a patchy coat said. "That's our meal, we's caught 't fair 'n' square!"
Tagg snarled, his tattoos rippling, making his face look quite barbaric. "An' 'es also my friend. Back off!"
"You can't be friends with a beast of burden. . . can you?" One weasel spoke, hesitantly.
"Beast of burden?" Cried the otter. "'Es an intelligent being! 'Es no slave!"
"Been too long alone, I'd say, chief," whispered the scruffy-looking weasel into the marked one's ear.
"I 'eard that remark, vermin." Snarled Tagg.
"I apologize," the marked weasel said calmly. "We did not know that the mouse belonged to you." The otter's eyes widened. "'Es owned by nobeast, save 'imself, perhaps. I'm no slaver."
The scruffy-looking weasel glanced at him, as if to say he thought that Tagg was insane. The otter in question carefully gathered up Nimbalo in his fore-limbs and picked up the blade in the earth, never taking his eyes off the weasel's, and began to back away.
Before he left the clearing, the tattooed otter growled a warning. "Don't follow us, vermin."
Although all the weasels had excellent senses, the otter seemed to literally disappear; fade into the woodlands as he left.
*The weasels of Sylver's band don't use bows; they use oversized darts.
~All right. . . what did you think? I'm going to put up the next chapter within a day or two. . . maybe even later tonight. Please, please tell me what you think of it. Oh, and in case you where wondering, the four weasels where Sylver, Scirf, Mawk-the-doubter and Alysoun.~